


Landslide and Autumn Wind

by Morgyn Leri (morgynleri)



Series: Northern Night [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, F/M, GFY
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 02:39:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4287597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgynleri/pseuds/Morgyn%20Leri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She is a blade sharp and keen as the wind whistling through the peaks, keeping her Queen's flank protected against all comers. He is a landslide, inescapable, swift, and dangerous as he crashes into their ranks astride a midnight-dark warg, a red flood in his wake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Landslide and Autumn Wind

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [Lynati](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynati/pseuds/Lynati) for inspiring this story, and the AU that has been born from it. And for asking questions that made me think about the world-building and backstory, so there's plenty to play with.

They meet over crossed blades, under leaden northern skies and a towering, bleak fortress. She is a blade sharp and keen as the wind whistling through the peaks, keeping her Queen's flank protected against all comers. He is a landslide, inescapable, swift, and dangerous as he crashes into their ranks astride a midnight-dark warg, a red flood in his wake.

* * *

Tauriel wakes to an aching head and fire along her side, and warm darkness that doesn't let her see anything. She can feel something she refuses to admit is panic start to rise in her chest, and presses her hands against the surface - clean linen over a pallet that gives slightly under pressure - supporting her.

"You need to stay down, Hars'azug. The wounds are deep."

The voice is rich and unfamiliar, and she turns her head toward it, even though she still can't see anything. She can hear someone moving in the dark, though, and hands - callused hands and palms that are warm against the bare skin of her shoulders - press her gently against the bed.

"Where am I? What have you done? Who are you?"

"Kept you alive." The hands linger for a moment, before whoever it is pulls away. "The uruktar call me Prince, and Winter Fire." The voice pauses. "You're safe."

The word he uses is not one she's heard, but it has at it's base a familiarity that makes Tauriel shiver despite the warmth of the room. Uruktar. Orcs, of some breed, perhaps what the pale filth that has raided out of the north again and again call themselves.

"And what are you? Some other sort of orc?" She doesn't know what use an orc would have with her, other than sport, and she would rather be dead than suffer that.

"No." There's a mix of annoyance and amusement, though more of the latter than the former. "I'm a casar." Winter Fire pauses, then adds, "Dwarf, in the common tongue."

There had been tales of dwarves still living in the north, under the whip of the orcs, but Winter Fire doesn't sound like he's a frightened slave. And she remembers a figure on a warg that had not entirely looked like an orc.

"You rode the black warg." She pushes her hands against the bed again, trying to sit up even though it made the fire along her side flare stronger. "Where is my queen?"

"Safe." Hands are on her shoulders again, pushing her down. "Mistress wanted her alive. No one else."

Tauriel resists for a moment before she lets herself be guided back to the bed. There is warmth against her side, a wetness that must be blood, and she grimaces. She hopes the dwarf is not lying when he says her queen lives, or she doesn't know that she will dare to return to the wood. Thranduil will be wrathful enough to find his queen is taken, and she doesn't care to face him to tell him worse.

"Who is your mistress?"

"No." There's an edge to even that single word, a warning not to press for information on whoever holds his leash. Someone he is afraid to anger, as she is with Thranduil.

* * *

Kíli watches the elf as she lays in his bed, her eyes darting about as if looking for something, anything, to see. There's only the dimmest glow from the iron stove in the corner to provide light, and it isn't enough for elvish eyes that are not meant for underground living. He smiles to himself, one corner of his mouth quirking upward, and contemplates lighting a candle for her. It would be a politeness, but also a danger, to let her see where she is.

Especially since he's not supposed to have done this. Cúnessa had barely wanted even the elvish queen as a prisoner, and only because keeping her hostage offers a chance to keep one army at bay. The dwarves have long been scattered by first Smaug, and then by Azog. Which leaves only the orcs that Sauron might send - if he ever regains enough strength to raise an army - and Smaug himself, sleeping on his couch of gold.

"Do you have a name?" Kíli hopes she has a name, because while the one he gave her fits how he saw her in battle, he likes the sound of elvish names. The music of them is one he doesn't hear much of among the uruktar, or even among the other dwarves who make Gundabad and Moria their homes.

The elf is silent for a long moment, turning her head to look his direction, though Kíli doesn't think she can see him. "I have one, but not one I intend to share with an orc-friend."

Kíli laughs at the idea that he's a friend to the orcs who are used to tire those sent against Gundabad and Moria. "You should rest, Hars'azug. Heal. You can escape later."

He should wait until she sleeps, and take her out to where she can be found by the elves, but Kíli doesn't like the idea of leaving her alone in the wild, wounded and vulnerable. Maybe once she's healed he'll figure out how to get her out of Gundabad without drawing Cúnessa's attention to the fact he had her in here in the first place.

* * *

They part under starlight, months later and miles south, halfway to the peaks of Moria. She has memories of warmth and gentle hands and whispered promises in the dark that she doesn't want to believe. He has new scars, a softness in his eyes that he'd thought lost, and a feeling he doesn't understand, but will horde close nonetheless.

* * *

The company that comes from the north is not small, but most of it camps beyond the eaves of the forest where arrows will not easily reach. Only sending a handful of riders closer, led by a pair of smaller figures in armor. One must be the dwarf she had spent time with in Gundabad, astride the same black warg that had come crashing down on Tauriel and the others protecting their Queen.

"We would speak with King Thranduil, if he will give us leave to enter his realm, or come out to treat with us." The voice is familiar, but Tauriel pretends not to recognize it. She cannot know - be seen to know - anyone who is willingly in the company of orcs, no matter how kind he had been, or how much her heart aches to pretend.

"What business do orcs and orc-friends have with the Woodland Realm?" She is proud that her voice does not tremble, that her hands are steady on bow and nocked arrow.

There is a momentary silence, before the same dwarf speaks again, a hint of amusement in his voice. "If he would have his queen returned to him, he must treat with us. Or we can return to Gundabad and tell her he would not negotiate for her sake."

"You will have to wait while a messenger takes your request to the King, and bears a reply in turn." Tauriel wishes, for a moment, that he had come alone, or perhaps with only the other dwarf for company, and that she had fewer than a company with her. But they are not alone, and she will not seek to find a way to have them so just for a few moments of joy that will do neither of them well. "Will you tarry long enough for that, at least?"

"I have all the time in the world, mistress elf." He at least doesn't call her by name, nor by the name he gave her before she relented enough to tell him her proper one. "Send your messenger, and we will wait."

* * *

There's no moon overhead, and clouds hide half the stars, a perfect night for creeping close to the forest, and to the place where Kíli hopes Tauriel will be to watch his camp. Fíli thinks he's insane to try to get close to the elves, and Kíli knows he's not far, watching Kíli's back.

"One more step, and I will put an arrow through your heart, orc-friend." It's Tauriel's voice, but there's an edge to it he's not expecting. One that makes him hide a wince, and draw a careful breath.

"Why don't you come out here, then, Hars'azug?" He would use Tauriel's name if they were alone, but he couldn't make this journey by himself without making his brother worry too much. And there still would have been whoever Tauriel's patrolling with to hide from, but he isn't worried about hiding from elves.

"There's nothing to say. The messenger will not have had a chance to tell the King of your request, much less started back with a reply." Tauriel doesn't come out, and Kíli bites back a sigh. Her voice still holds an edge, cold and sharp as winter, and he doubts it will fade while they have others to hear them.

He waits a moment longer before he pulls a smooth stone from a pouch he's kept close over the last three years, tossing it lightly toward the trees, certain Tauriel will hear where it lands. "I hope your watch is without trouble, Hars'azug."

There is no response, and he doesn't expect one, turning to walk back to where Fíli is waiting for him, and from there back to their shared tent in the heart of the camp.

"She's the elf you were hiding, isn't she?" Fíli keeps his voice low, leaning in close to Kíli. "What are you doing, Kíli?"

"Something stupid, and reckless, and probably hopeless." Kíli shrugs, a grin creeping across his face for a moment, before it slips away. "She wouldn't say my name. The one I told her. I kept my promise, never told anyone, not even you, and she hasn't done the same, I don't think."

"She's an _elf_ , Kíli." Fíli sighs, wrapping a hand around the back of Kíli's neck, pulling him in to rest their foreheads against each other. "There's only one elf we can trust, and she's not one we can like."

"I know." Kíli closes his eyes, trying to gather the warm feeling he'd had before he let Tauriel go close, hoarding what he still has. "I still think I love her, Fíli. It hurts. Like mother. And uncle."

Fíli's grip tightens, and he draws Kíli into a tight hug. Silent promise that no matter what happens, he will always have one person who won't betray him, intentionally or not.

"I'll do what I can, Kíli."

"Don't hurt her. Just. Don't hurt her." Kíli sighs, sitting back as Fíli lets go. "Promise me, Fíli."

"I won't harm her." Fíli watches Kíli for a long moment. "Unless she hurts you more than she already has."

* * *

She stands tall and silent in the shadow of her Queen, a fierce protector who no longer smiles or laughs as she did before. Safe in the gathering gloom of the Woodland Realm, with ice creeping ever deeper into her heart. A pouch hangs around her neck, keeping a stone held close under her tunics and armor, of which she never speaks.

His smile is as cheerful and reckless as it ever had been, racing his brother across the frosted plains at the feet of the mountains, but his eyes give the lie away, distant and lost. A winter storm that brings only ice and shadow, instead of the bright flame that lights the darkest night. He never speaks of why, save perhaps to the winds that hide his words from listening ears.

Perhaps one day they will meet again.


End file.
